


feels like i've missed you all this time

by scarlettroses



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: (no one dies in the actual fic), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Cancer, Canon Era, Gen, M/M, Magic, Modern Era, Time Travel, i tagged mlm and gen bc its up to interpretation! platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 08:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettroses/pseuds/scarlettroses
Summary: "Perhaps I'll give you a name, so it's like I'm writing to a friend. (How sad to have an imaginary friend at my big age!) Never mind that— I'll call you Jack, and you've got no choice but to be my friend, as I've just invented you for me to talk to."-two very, very lonely boys. a spooky old house with magic in its walls. a diary from a hundred years ago. (a cute little story about fate and fanstasy.)
Relationships: David Jacobs & Jack Kelly, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 19
Kudos: 68





	feels like i've missed you all this time

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know i have other wips on the go that i should be updating, but i got the idea for this fic and the words just sort of wrote themselves?? so here it is- the fastest i've ever written this many words lol
> 
> the only warning for this fic is some discussion of terminal illness (specifically childhood cancer) but no one dies in the fic and it's not really talked about in detail- it's pretty much just background info. message me on tumblr if you'd like more details before reading, if you think that topic might be tough for you!
> 
> anyways, that's about it. happy reading!!!

_April 14th, 1899._

_Am I supposed to start this with "Dear Diary"? That sounds odd, doesn't it? I've never kept a journal before, and it feels a little strange talking to no-one._

_Perhaps I'll give you a name, so it's like I'm writing to a friend. (How sad to have an imaginary friend at my big age!) Never mind that— I'll call you Jack, and you've got no choice but to be my friend, as I've just invented you for me to talk to._

_Hello, Jack. My name is David, and it's very nice to make your acquaintance._

_I turned sixteen today. My mother gave me this notebook as a gift— she says she loves my penmanship, and she'd like me to keep practicing it despite not being in school anymore. I'll never admit it out loud, but I'm actually rather relieved to be done with school, as much as I would have liked to graduate or go on to college. I'm not sure what it is about me that people don't like, but it's always been hard for me to make friends, and I spent most of my time alone. I don't miss school at all._

_Sarah says it's because I'm awkward and not sociable enough— she's probably right._

_I suppose I should tell you about my family, Jack. Sarah is my twin sister: we're somehow completely alike and totally different at the same time. She's more outgoing than I am, and a bit mischievous— she likes to play tricks on me sometimes. She's got quite the talent for sewing and embroidery, and she says she wants to make fancy dresses for rich folks someday. A dressmaker to the rich and famous— imagine that!_

_I've got a brother as well. His name is Lester, but we just call him Les for short. He's only nine, but he's very bright for his age, and even more outgoing than Sarah. I'll try to make sure he doesn't get his hands on this book— he'd surely go and draw on all the pages._

_Finally, there's my parents. I don't suppose there's much to say about them, other than complain that they decided we should move to this tiny little town. It's not really their fault— my father got hurt at work, and the doctor said some fresh air would do him well, which is why we moved to the seaside. I think part of the reason also might be that we can't afford the rent in Manhattan anymore, but no one seems to want to talk about that. We're all trying to keep our spirits up— Les is thrilled to live by the beach, so maybe I ought to take a page out of his book._

_I'll try to find some good things about the situation:_   
_\- I have my own bedroom now._   
_\- My new job is alright, if a little tedious. (I stock shelves and help keep the books at the General Store in town, I forgot to mention that.)_   
_\- The ocean is right outside my window_ _. I was hoping there would be a nice sandy beach, like on a tropical island, but the rocky shore and the woods nearby seem fun to explore, at least._   
_\- The air is clean and never stinky._   
_\- Our house has electric lights and a telephone!_

_That's all I've got for now. I'll have to think on it a little more. Sarah is calling me anyways— it's my turn to set the table for dinner. I'll write again soon._

_Sincerely,_   
_David_

-

Jack sits in the middle of the floor in his new bedroom and flips through the pages of the old notebook one more time.

There's only one entry. Whoever David was, he must've gotten tired of writing, or he hid the book from his brother a little too well and couldn't find it again.

Jack found it tucked away under a loose floorboard in the closet, while he was deep-cleaning the room to get started on putting his stuff away. Other than a whole lot of dust, the house is in pretty good shape for being so old— a lot of people must have lived here over the years and taken good care of it, though it's awfully strange that no one found the notebook until now.

Even more strange, is the fact that the single diary entry was written one hundred years ago today, by someone Jack's own age, and the made-up name he'd decided to write to was _Jack_. Not only that— Jack _also_ just moved here from Manhattan, and he's moved into the exact same bedroom. This is bizarre.

He's not sure what to make of it, so he decides he'll have to bother his brother about it.

"Charlie!" He sock-slides down the hallway to stumble into his little brother's room. "You gotta see this!"

Charlie is sitting by the window and reading, which is wonderful. He sleeps a lot these days, so Jack is simply happy to see him whenever he's awake.

"What's going on?" asks Charlie, dog-earring his page and setting his book down. "You find a weird bug or something?"

"No, _look_!" Jack tosses the notebook to Charlie. "It was in my room, under the floorboards. Read it!"

-

_April 14th, 1999._

_Hey David,_

_I'm not sure why I'm writing this, since I know you'll obviously never see it, but I felt bad for your poor notebook that's been sitting around for all this time. It deserved a second entry, even if it took a hundred years._

_Your writing is way nicer than mine, so this is a little embarrassing. I'm dyslexic too— sorry if things are spelled wrong._

_I'm Jack, I'm also sixteen (almost seventeen though!) and I just moved into this house. Either it's a wired coincidence that you were writing to an imaginary Jack, or it's fate! I think it's pretty cool that your finally getting your response. I moved here from Manhattan too, which is kinda crazy._

_I guess I'll talk about my family, since you told me about yours._

_I only have one sibling, a little brother. I kinda wish I had a sister too, but I don't mind having a small family. Charlie is pretty cool— he's fifteen, and he's basically my best freind. We're both adopted, so we look nothing alike and sometimes people don't even believe we're really brothers. He's super goofy and sweet and he's almost always smiling, which I think is awesome. He's a whole lot smarter than I am and he reads a lot of books (I hate reading and I haaaaate school). He was totally buggin when I showed him your notebook, but in a good way— he thought it was SO neat!_

_Our mom is the best mom ever. She adopted both of us when we were pretty little, so she's the only mom I've ever known. She's a singer and an actress, which is the coolest job in the world, I think. She owns an off-Broadway theatre too, and the building is so old that you probably saw it when you lived in Manhattan._

_You said you don't like school, and oh man, I don't either. I think we have opposite problems, though— I get along with people just fine, I'm just not very smart. I'm real bad at homework, specially when it's math, and I do bad on most of my tests. I'm getting homeschooled now, since we moved, and I think it might be easier this way since I won't get so distracted. Charlie is really good at school and even though he's younger than me, maybe he can help me out._

_I hope the fresh air makes your dad feel better. Charlie is really sick, so I hope the fresh air helps him too. That's kind of why we moved here— nothing the doctors were doing could help him anymore, and he was really sad being stuck in the hospital. He loves the ocean, so he'll be happier here, and maybe your dad's doctor was onto something with the air thing. I guess we'll see._

_Woah. I wrote a lot. It felt kinda good to talk to someone, even though you're probably a ghost. I'll put your book back where I found it, so that you don't haunt me or anything._

_Your not-so-imaginary friend,_   
_Jack_

-

"Sarah! Did you go and write some silly story in my notebook!?"

David storms down the stairs, grabs one of his sister's braids, and yanks. She squeals and turns around to shove him away.

"No, I don't care about your stupid book! Why would I do that!?"

She's still in her nightgown, making breakfast for the family. Their father must still be in bed— David will have to help him down the stairs— and their mother is busy trying to get Les dressed and ready for his first day at the little school in town.

"Well someone did, and Les can't write that well, so it had to be you! I hate it when you go through my things, Sarah."

"I swear I didn't," she says, looking almost believably earnest. "I don't even know where you keep it. And if I did, I wouldn't waste my time writing in it! What kind of story did you even find?"

Now that's the perplexing bit— David can't even wrap his head around it. Somehow, his imaginary Jack has written back to him, from a hundred years in the future. He used some strange words and grammar that almost makes David inclined to believe it's real— how would Sarah or Les know to come up with these things?

"It's _bizarre_ ," he sighs. He's carried it downstairs with him, so he hands it to her, open to Jack's page. "Read this."

She's never been much of an actress, and David can tell when she's lying, so her genuine confusion and amusement officially convince him that she didn't write it.

" _Totally buggin'_..." she reads. "What? And he keeps saying people are _cool_ — does the house not have a furnace in the future? This is so strange." She flips the page to keep reading, and frowns. "That's awful sad about his brother. I wonder what he's sick with." She hands it back to him with a shrug. "I sure didn't write it."

David huffs, a little frustrated, and sets the book on the table.

"I'm so confused. If it wasn't you, I have no clue who it could've been."

Sarah rolls her eyes as she turns back to the stove to stir the pot of porridge.

"It was Jack, obviously. It's magic. Either your imaginary friend is real, or your bedroom is some kind of time loop."

"That's ridiculous," David groans. "You've been reading too many of those fairy tales for Les's bedtime stories— I'll bet you've convinced him magic is real."

Sarah shrugs, and turns around to grin at him in that silly way that she does when she's deliberately trying to piss him off.

"Who's to say it isn't?"

Before David can respond, they're interrupted by a shout from upstairs, that their father is ready to be helped down to the kitchen. David simply yanks Sarah's braid one more time as he leaves, which makes her throw a handful of flour all over his back. He shakes it off, all over the floor, and now they're both surely going to be in trouble for making a mess.

David can't even be bothered— he's got far too much to think about.

-

_April 15th, 1899._

_Hello Jack,_

_I've spent all day trying to figure out who's trying to trick me. I know it's silly to have an imaginary friend, but it's not very funny to pretend to be him and write a fake letter back._

_I've given up— I know it's not Sarah, and Les has even worse handwriting than you, so it can't be him. My parents certainly wouldn't do this, and no one else has been in the house, so I have no choice but to believe that you've actually written to me from the future. What a strange coincidence that someone named Jack would move into this house someday!_

_I showed your entry to Sarah, (you showed mine to Charlie, so it's only fair,) and she's been laughing all day about "totally buggin." We can't figure out what it means for the life of us, so I'd love if you could write back and explain. You future-folk do talk awfully funny. Does "cool" have some other meaning, or is your family always cold?_

_I don't think I'm a ghost, at least not yet, so you don't have to worry about me haunting you. You seem nice enough, so even if I were a ghost, I'd be kind to you— a friendly sort of haunting, if you will._

_Also, I'm very sorry to hear about your brother. Sarah said I should ask what he's sick with, but I didn't think that would be polite, so only tell me if you want to. A friend of mine caught consumption when we were young, and she was sick for a quite a while until it took her— illness is scary, isn't it? I hope the fresh air helps Charlie feel better._

_Now, this is still my journal, so I suppose I'll tell you about my day. I worked from noon until six, which isn't too bad— there's not much to do in the store, so they don't need me any more than that. It was horribly boring: I counted boxes of cigars and bags of sugar and penny candies (one at a time!) until I swore my eyes were about to fall out. Les went off to school today and then griped about it all evening— he just wants to go play at the beach. Mother told him he's lucky he's getting an education at all, since so many children are less fortunate._

_I did go and explore the beach with him a bit, though. We found a walking path through the trees that led to a nice little clearing— he said it reminded him of somewhere that fairies would live. The children's stories he reads have gotten into his head something terrible, but I suppose I'm not any better, writing to a magical friend from the future._

_What do you do for fun, Jack? I'm terribly boring myself, though I do like playing the piano and reading. My mother's been teaching me to cook as well, and I rather enjoy that. I'm sure your life is much more interesting than mine._

_I do hope you'll write again and it might show up somehow, and I certainly hope this isn't a prank._

_Yours,_   
_David_

-

There's a new entry.

Jack can't believe his eyes. He'd opened the notebook again because he needed drawing inspiration and he thought he might try and guess what David looked like— he hadn't expected to see _this_.

Not only is there a new entry, but David _responded_ to what Jack wrote yesterday. They're writing to each other through some kind of hundred-year time portal— maybe it _is_ fate. Charlie's been reading this _Harry Potter_ book about a school for wizards (he won't stop talking about how excited he is for the sequel) and this feels like something that might happen in that magical world— not this plain old boring one.

God... Jack should write back, shouldn't he? He drops his sketchbook on the floor and takes the notebook over to his desk instead.

This is insane.

-

_April 15th, 1999._

_Hi David,_

_This is sure weird, isn't it?? I have no idea how you saw my letter, or how your new entry just appeared in the notebook. It's funny— my first thought was that Charlie was pranking me, we both blamed our siblings! I don't think he would've done this, though, so I'm also gonna go ahead and believe it's real._

_To answer your questions:_   
_\- "Buggin" means you're freaking out. Charlie thinks history and stuff is really neat, so he was pretty excited about your notebook._   
_\- "Cool" means something is awesome— like how it's really cool that we can talk to each other through this book!_   
_\- I dunno when cancer was discovered, or if you'd know what it is, but that's what Charlie is sick with. It's basically a disease that's destroying his brain. He's been to a lot of doctors, but none of the medicine really worked, so now we're just trying to make sure he's happy for the last little bit of his life. It's scary, but I'm trying to make the best of it and enjoy having him around while he's still here._

_My life is pretty boring too! Playing piano sounds really fun— I can sing alright, but I can't play any instruments. I'm mostly into drawing and painting, and I like to think I'm pretty good at it (is that arrogant of me? I don't think I mind if it is). I might try to go to college and study art, but I'm not sure how that'll work when I'm so terrible at school. I should probably come up with a more realistic career plan, but I don't really mind what job I end up doing, as long as I can do art on the side. I could be a garbage man for all I care._

_I guess I'll tell you about my day too. Mom made me read part of a history book for school in the morning, and I guess it was kind of interesting. I'd tell you about it, but what's history for me hasn't happened yet for you, so I won't spoil anything. In the afternoon, I started exploring the town. Charlie can't walk very well and doesn't have much energy, so he didn't come, but I sketched the most interesting stuff I saw and showed it to him when I got home. I took my Polaroid (an instant camera! I bet you don't have those in your time) along too, but I didn't have much film left so I only took a couple photos._

_I'll stick one of the photos right here so you can see it! I turned the camera around and tried taking a picture of myself with the beach in the background— it didn't turn out that good, but I thought you might wanna see what I look like. If anything, it's proof that I'm real!_

_I should probably stop writing now— it's late at night and I just heard Charlie get out of bed. I think he's throwing up, I'm gonna go see if he's okay._

_Talk soon,_   
_Jack :)_

-

David can't believe his eyes.

He's never seen a colour photo quite this _bright_. Jack is grinning at the camera, though part of his face is cut off, and it's nearly as vivid as if he were here in real life.

He's incredibly beautiful, David notes, and the very thought of it makes him blush a little. He's always thought boys were a lot prettier than girls, and Jack is no exception.

"David!" There's a yell from downstairs. It's his father. "What's taking so long!? You have to walk Les to school and you're going to make him late!"

Oh... right. He has to get going. He'll come back and write to Jack later.

-

_April 16th, 1899._

_Dear Jack,_

_I was so delighted to receive your photograph! I suppose you could say I'm totally buggin. You look lovely, and I've never seen a photo print with such bright colors before!_

_The beach looks just the same in your time as it does in mine. How wonderful is it to think that we have the exact same view out our bedroom window!_

_Your mention of your instant camera got me to thinking about how much new technology you must have, that maybe I wouldn't even understand. I can't imagine trying to explain electricity or automobiles to someone living in 1799, so I can't help but wonder what amazing things you must have that would make no sense in my time. Has anyone figured out how to fly yet? I think that would be incredible._

_I also wonder what medical innovations have been made, though it sounds like they haven't found a cure for cancer. I'm so sorry to hear about Charlie's condition and that he wasn't well last night— was he alright? I hope you manage to make the most of what time you get to spend with him, and that maybe by some miracle he'll be okay._

_I can't write for long today— with my father injured, it's like I've had to become the man of the house in some ways, and I'm surely not cut out for it. My mother is calling me to go chop firewood... Sarah calls me dainty and ladylike for it, but I hate doing "manly" things like that. I guess I'm practically a man now, though, so I've got to get used to it eventually. Ugh._

_Anyways, maybe I'll come back and write some more tonight. It must speak to how lonely I am— writing to you is a highlight of my day._

_Sincerely,_   
_David_

_P.S. I wish I could show you a photo of myself, but I don't have any on hand, and we don't have a camera. Maybe when I have time I could just tell you what I look like! I'm very plain-looking, so it shouldn't be too hard to do._

-

"We'll be back in a few hours. Don't get into too much trouble."

"I'll be fine, Mama," Jack laughs. "I'm sixteen, I can handle staying home alone for a bit."

Medda and Charlie are by the door, ready to go into the city for the day. While they've given up on chemotherapy and stuff, Charlie still needs pain meds and palliative care— physical therapy and whatnot to keep him comfortable and independent for as long as possible. He's got a couple of appointments today, so Jack has the house to himself.

"He's gonna play video games 'til his brain rots," Charlie teases, hitting Jack's ankle lightly with one of his crutches. He had a stroke last year— caused by the brain tumour that they hadn't found yet— and it partially paralyzed the right half of his body, mostly in his leg. He's able to get around with crutches on his good days, and a wheelchair when he needs it.

"I barely even play video games!" Jack whines. "You're on the Nintendo way more than I am."

"And now I'm dying of brain cancer... that's how it gets you." He nods, faux-serious. "Don't make the same mistakes, dude."

"Boys, please! That's enough," Medda groans. She hates Charlie's morbid sense of humour about his situation, while Jack finds it somewhat admirable and entertaining. "Let's not even _pretend_ that's how cancer works. Jack, don't make a mess of the house. Charlie, go get in the car. You two are ridiculous."

Jack fist-bumps Charlie, hugs Medda, and then watches as the car pulls out of the driveway. He's got about a million painting ideas, inspired by his walks around town, and a couple of new CDs that he found at a garage sale to listen to, so he locks the front door and jogs up to his room

He's certainly not expecting to see someone _in_ his room.

There's a big window, overlooking the beach, and there's a little bench in front of it that's probably meant to be a reading nook. A boy about Jack's own age, wearing old-fashioned clothes, is sitting on that bench, writing in David's notebook. He's just a little bit see-through... almost like a ghost.

Holy _shit_. A ghost— that's David! Jack can see him!

"Hello?" Jack tries, but he gets no response. He walks a little closer, taps him on the shoulder, and his hand passes right through. "Hey Davey! I'm right here!"

Nothing. Damn it.

He's reaching for his sketchbook before he even realizes it, already trying to shade the lines and curves of David's face. He needs physical proof that this happened, that he isn't hallucinating or totally out of his mind. If he can look back at the drawing later, he'll know this was real.

David is really, really pretty. Jack certainly doesn't specialize in portraits— he's okay at them, but he likes landscapes better— but drawing him feels natural. The pencil just floats across the page, almost of its own accord.

He's never drawn so fast in his life, but he's still barely got the details down when David stands up, walks right through him to get to the closet, and crouches down to put the book away. He pauses, scribbles down a couple more lines, and then lifts the floorboards to put it away with a fond sort of smile on his face.

The moment the book leaves his hand, David's ghostly form disappears. Jack nearly shouts in frustration.

He runs to the closet and grabs the notebook to read the new entry. He wonders if now that he's holding it, David can see him. What if they both touched it at the same time? Would they see each other or would their time loop implode?

This is all so goddamn confusing.

-

_April 16th, 1999._

_Hey David,_

_I think I saw you today! I walked into my (our?) room, and you were sitting by the window, writing in this book!_

_You told me you aren't a ghost, but you were a little translucent, so I have my doubts... hahaha. I tried to say hello, but you couldn't hear me. You even walked right through me, and then as soon as you put the book away, you were gone._

_I drew you, since I wasn't sure what else to do. I'll stick the drawing between the pages so that you confirm if it's even you— maybe we've got ANOTHER ghost on our hands. Also, you're totally not plain-looking! Maybe it's just the artist in me, but your nose and your jaw are literally at the perfect angles and your face is amazing._

_Anyways, I kind of get the whole "man of the house" thing you were talking about— it's always just been me, Mama, and Charlie, so now that I'm older I have a lot to do. Especially with Charlie sick and my mom so busy, I take care of myself most of the time and do stuff for them too. It's lonely, but I don't mind it. I don't wanna be a bother when Charlie obviously needs Mom's attention more than I do._

_They went into the city today, and I'm home alone. I honestly hate being at home by myself— I get kind of nervous, which is stupid— but Charlie has doctor's appointments and stuff, so it would be pointless for me to go with them._

_I think tonight I'll go down to that clearing you were talking about, that your brother thought fairies might hang out in. I like painting outside sometimes, and it's so different from the city here, so maybe I'll even see an animal or two! The clearing is still there— I checked when I went for a walk this morning. Charlie was even feeling well enough to come along, but we used his wheelchair so his legs wouldn't be tired for physical therapy today and it was hard to get through the path— it's a little overgrown. We got COVERED in mud and Mom was so mad when we got home!_

_I have a lot to get done today, so I'll keep it short too. Hopefully we can figure out how this whole magic thing works— maybe you'll see me sometime, or we'll even see each other at the same time! Cool, right?_

_Your friend from another century,_   
_Jack <3_

-

David is in awe, quite honestly.

He's never seen himself as _beautiful_ before, but there's no other word to describe Jack's drawing— and that's David's own face on the page. It looks just like him, but at least ten times more ethereal than he could ever dream of being.

God, Jack could _see_ him... does this mean their connection is getting stronger? It was only while he was holding the notebook— if Jack held it, could David see him? If they both touched it, would they see each other?

It has to be magic. There's no other way around it— they've got fate or some kind of higher power on their side. They're _meant_ to be friends. He vaguely wonders if it has something to do with how much they believe in it... if he really convinces himself it's _real_ , would that manifest it?

An idea dawns on him, and he tucks the notebook in his pocket, almost giddily. He's got a plan.

-

_Mama,_

_I'm going down to the beach, since I wanna paint before it gets dark out! All the laundry is done and I made my own dinner, so just eat without me :)_

_I'll be home before it's too dark!_

_Jack_

-

"I'm going out, Ma!"

David sincerely hopes she won't ask questions, but of _course_ she sets down her knitting and takes off her glasses, waving him down before he can leave.

"Where are you going?"

"Just for a walk, down by the beach." He bounces on his toes a little, feeling rather antsy. He's ridiculously nervous, and his plan will probably fail anyways.

"Could you take your brother along? He's bouncing off the walls tonight— your father should've never bought him that candy stick."

David hesitates, not sure how to get away with leaving Les at home.

"Um, I was hoping to go alone." He gulps nervously. "I'm... meeting someone."

He's almost embarrassed of the way her face immediately lights up.

"A friend!?" His life is _so_ sad and lonely, that his mother is ecstatic over the very idea of him socializing. Good lord. "Oh, David! Go on, then. Don't be late!"

All he can do is laugh at the absurdity of the situation and then shake his head as he walks out the door. If only she knew.

He rubs his thumb over the spine of his notebook as he walks. He _needs_ this to work. He wants to meet Jack so badly— if he really, truly believes it's real, maybe fate will be so kind as to make it come true.

-

When Jack starts to paint, he tends to completely tune the rest of the world out.

The sun is just starting to set, the sky is cotton-candy pink, and he's in a little clearing surrounded by gorgeous willow trees that make for a magical scene. Mama would _love_ this, so he's trying to get it onto his canvas as accurately as possible.

It's quiet. He can hear some birds chirping, the rush of waves hitting the beach not too far away, but it's otherwise entirely peaceful. New York City was _never_ this quiet— it adds to the magical feeling of this little town. It's just him and nature.

He likes it, of course. Don't get him wrong— the sense of tranquility is amazing. But it's a little lonely... just like most other aspects of his life these days.

He sort of wishes he had someone here to talk to.

-

It's _going_ to work.

David repeats it to himself as he walks, clutching onto his notebook. He's going to walk to the magical little clearing, part the hanging willow branches that surround it, and Jack will be _there_. Live and in person, and they'll be able to see each other and talk to each other and be _real_ friends, not just cross-century pen pals.

He's not sure why he's so set on the idea— they've only been talking for a few days, so they really hardly know each other. But there has to be a reason fate has brought them together. The name David made up to write to just _happened_ to belong to someone that would find his book exactly a century later, and think to write him back? The very notion of it is insane— coincidences like that don't just happen.

They're _meant_ to be friends. This has to work.

His heart is pounding in his throat as he makes his way down the path. Maybe he's wrong— just because this clearing looks all fantasy-like and magical doesn't mean it's actually where their realities might intersect. But he can _feel_ it. Something is telling him this is where he needs to be right now.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the branches aside. He can't help the grin that spreads onto his face.

Sitting on the grass, dressed in unfamiliar clothes and with hair that seems awfully long for a boy, is exactly the person David _knows_ he was meant to meet. The wave of happiness and calm that rushes over him is almost indescribable.

"Hi, Jack."

-

Jack's gaze snaps up and his heart nearly stops.

David is _here_. Just when he was thinking that he wished he had a friend to sit here and talk with... there he is.

He's on his feet before he even realizes it, running towards him.

"Davey! Oh my god!"

They hug, and it's _real_. Solid. They're both there, and it feels as if they've known each other for years. Like they were meant to be together, when they needed each other the most.

"You're real," Davey says, resting his head on Jack's shoulder and laughing softly. "I _knew_ you were real. I'm not crazy."

Jack can't stop smiling. He's not sure where they'll go from here— is this the only time they'll be able to see each other, or will the magic keep getting stronger? Will they manage to travel to each other's worlds somehow, or will they just remain pen pals through time and space forever?

No matter what happens from here on out, in this moment, everything feels right.

Fate, magic, or some kind of higher power has brought them together, and they were _made_ to be here for each other.

**Author's Note:**

> how sweet!
> 
> so this fic isn't explicitly platonic or romantic, and it doesn't really have a ton of closure with the ending-- i wanted to leave a lot of it up to reader interpretation! how much of their relationship is real, and how much is imaginary? are they both so lonely that they've gone off into this fantasy world in each of their heads, or is the magic actually connecting them? the platonic-romantic thing being undefined really feeds into how innocent these characters are-- they're young and naive, and incredibly desperate for any kind of connection.
> 
> i would LOVE to hear what y'all think of it! please please please leave a comment, even if it's just a few words! :)))


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